Unacceptable
by Green2
Summary: An attempt at a believable 'Retribution' ret-con for an ending many deem 'unacceptable' *g* *SLASH* H/A


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Unacceptable

By Green

Dedicated to 'Lizard', happy thoughts, man. 

Pairing: Horatio/Archie

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Rating: PG-13

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Warnings: SLASH as per usual. Don't like it, don't read it. Character death (although not * that * character)

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Disclaimer: I am not CS Forrester or A&E Meridian. I do not own these characters, when I finally figure some way that I can, you will know because of the, ahem, minor alterations to all future episodes

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Feedback: green99bottles@aol.com or underneath, anything constructive VERY welcome

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Archive: Yes please, anyone that wants it

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Notes: An attempt at a 'Retribution' ret-con that was vaguely believable turned into this plot line almost by itself. I have long wished that the movie ended otherwise (who hasn't?), but most of the fiction I read on the subject doesn't convince me. I quite like the solution I've got here, but everyone else may hate it, whatever, please tell me about it! Anyhoo, I found it quite an enjoyable challenge. One of the main problems I found with other fictions was that Archie's heroism was cancelled out by it all being some kind of plot with Pellew or something. I hope that here I've preserved the nobility, but fixed the cruel 'reality' A&E expect us to live with…Enjoy * g *

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Out in the street the birds sing in the palm trees, in the sun and fresh wind. A child plays beneath the prison wall; singing:

'Come out from the houses,

Come out from the streets,

Come away, come away,

Come out to die'

He sees the events unfolding, and for a few minutes he simply lets them fly past, unchecked. 

'Please help me to dress, Mr Bush' 

The other man's eyes seem far away, as though they look at something very beautiful and precious. It must hurt him to stand, but he does and does not grimace. Bush watches, still uncomprehending, still blank. And then…

'What are you doing Mr Kennedy? Are you mad? You must lie down'

That smile, playing around his mouth. Bush has seen it before, when Kennedy looked at Hornblower just before helping him set the charges at the fort.

'Are you mad?' He cannot think of anything else to say, he must say something though, fill the gap whilst he processes in his mind this sudden influx of information.

'My shirt, please, Mr Bush.' Seriously now, but with unshaken purpose.

'You're going to…For him…You're…He'll never let you!'

'I won't let him stop me' Spoken calmly, a definite statement. He sounds more tired and weak already. He may not even survive to the courtroom if he continues to strain his chest wound in this manner. Bush can suddenly see so much more in the man than he had realised. Courage, loyalty of course, and honour. But now he sees something else even more clearly. He sees that cliff top in Jamaica, that look that Hornblower and Kennedy gave each other before they jumped, as if they would go anywhere and do anything as long as they were together. As if, perhaps, together they had already done many things that no one would guess, unless he was privileged to see that look…

…That day Hornblower took the shower on deck, Kennedy's face…

He has heard the stories of course. Of Muzilliac and the time in Spain. Of the number of times over his new best friends owe each other their lives. 

Seems now Archie Kennedy intends to make the final payment. And for a moment Bush cannot help but be filled with envy, for both of them. That Hornblower can inspire such devotion, that Kennedy can give it…it is beautiful indeed… And he also sees once more that agony on Hornblower's face, as he held Kennedy in his arms and let the blood from the gaping chest wound run all over him, just holding him and screaming in that silent terrible way - Lieutenant Mr Reserved Hornblower, just…screaming. The way you do when you are about to cry and the pain stabs your throat and sends needles through your eyes. 

Which is surprisingly like how he himself feels right now.

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Out in the street the birds sing in the palm trees, and in the sun and fresh wind. A child plays beneath the prison wall; singing:

'Come out from the houses,

Come out from the streets,

Come away, come away,

Come out to die'

'No'

'Please, just help me dress'

'NO!' The shout makes Kennedy flinch and for a moment Bush is almost embarrassed, because how do you stop the noblest deed a man can ever do?

'Please' and those blue eyes are dry, because they need to be clear for this purpose. Bush never knew that Kennedy had this * force * in him. This will, this passion. But then, it seems that there are many things he did not know.

'You think that you will save him this way?' No answer

'You think that this will give the happy ending for him, you think you'll give him his life? Listen to me! He lives for you, if you…if you continue with this insane scheme he'll lose everything, as it is he may get off, the court may be lenient.'

Now Kennedy turns to face him, for the first time since he sat up, and those eyes are still burning, and the mouth is twisted in anger, as well as with the pain of movement.

'You have * no * idea in hell what I owe him, Mr Bush! You have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do; we're off ship now. I am only alive to give this to him because he saved me from myself, from…' He breaks off and pauses, thinking, then a decision is made and he speaks again, Bush is suddenly almost afraid of what he will say. 

'Before I met him I was the fucking-boy of a man who beat people, including me, to pulp as a diversion. There is nothing I can ever give him to equal what he gave me then. Tell me now that I have any other choice.' The words are crude, and designed to fall heavily and painfully into the silence.

Bush hates what he has heard, but he cannot argue, and he knows as well as Kennedy that the likelihood of a court letting Hornblower off is practically non-existent. He wonders, for a second, how Hornblower did save Kennedy, and for some insane reason he feels that the story might be rather beautiful, but there is no time for any other thoughts now. He must speak, and he has only one chance.

'You have something very special, then. It's lonely, being a sailor. I have no wife, no sweetheart, nothing. You have him, he has you, I wish…I wish that I could feel that way for men sometimes. I wish that I could ever have a chance of finding a love such as yours, and at sea with men it is the only way. It was a million-to-one that you two 

would ever meet, you cannot abandon that.'

Kennedy looks at him in surprise, and well he should, given that a Second Lieutenant of His Majesty's Navy has just sanctioned the worst crime in the calendar, and one for which Kennedy could expect to be hung whether or not it led him to the noose to save his beloved. Bush himself cannot believe what he has just said, what he has just condoned, and he doesn't want to think about the 'details' of that behaviour at all. But he knows that love is good, and somehow he can't see all this any other way. Love like he knows he will never have, love that he should protect, because he owes them that much. Maybe at least this insane outburst will reach Kennedy.

But the passion in Kennedy's eyes is still present, with that purpose, and anger and strength. Bush suddenly receives a flash of understanding. He can see why Hornblower can love this man, and how those eyes would be so beautiful on a woman, and why did they have to entangle themselves when they knew this could happen any day and why can something so unpleasant seem so wonderful to them and how can love be with them, for all it is denied to so many 'natural' couples?

But none of the answers are for Bush and none of them are for that day, or that time.

'Thank-you…for…. Thank-you, Mr Bush. You speak much as my heart has in past years.' Kennedy looks paler now, and his quiet, aching sadness is just as heart breaking as Hornblower's screams of sorrow. 'But you do not see the point. He is going to die unless I save him. We * cannot * be together and I would never let myself live while my death could prevent his. I love him,' and that slight, sad smile again, 'for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until…until and beyond death'

Bush can feel the stinging at the back of his eyes and he curses and curses them and everything, because this choice shouldn't have to be made. Three good men joined the Renown, and none of them should have to die for their ill luck in boarding that cursed vessel. But fate, it seems, must have a sacrifice, and anyway, what is there left of the past few weeks that he has not already damned to Hell? He nods, just once, and walks to the washstand, picking up a small bottle secretly and hiding it in his right hand as he passes the table.

'Here, drink this, you will need a clear throat for what you plan to say and it may bring down the fever and clear your mind.' Not that it needs clearing, but that isn't the point anyway. Bush waits a few moments after Kennedy has drained the cup and then moves at exactly the right point to catch him as he topples over. He was obviously right in thinking Kennedy was too distracted to notice the opium he had laced the water with. He will sleep for a good few hours before even an earthquake could wake him.

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Out in the street the birds sing in the palm trees, and in the sun and fresh wind. A child plays beneath the prison wall; singing:

'Come out from the houses,

Come out from the streets,

Come away, come away,

Come out to die

'He is going to die unless I save him', Kennedy had said. Well, that wasn't strictly true, was it? The court-martial board wanted a scapegoat; any scapegoat, it didn't matter whom. 

Mechanically he lays Kennedy on the bed. He stands, puts on his jacket. 

He will have to run reach the courtroom on time.

Some part of his mind tells him he is mad, but it is in a minority. Kennedy had said he owed Hornblower a life, well Bush owes both of them his life at least once, and he has already lived longer than the two of them added together. No one should have to die because their Captain is unfit for duty, but his is one life, and he did not lie to Kennedy earlier. He knows that to Hornblower, life without Kennedy would not be life at all, his stories of the Indefatigable tell as much, for all they try and hide, and shield the light in their eyes and their smiles. 

And here is the courtroom, and who would have thought three little words could cause such silence?

…'I love you'…

…'I was pushed'…

…'Help me dress'…

…'Have some water'…

…'* I * pushed him'…

Three little, little words, to alter men's fates so…

Out in the street the birds sing in the palm trees, and in the sun and fresh wind. A child plays beneath the prison wall; singing:

'Come out from the houses,

Come out from the streets,

Come away, come away,

Come out to die'

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EPILOGUE:

I could not believe it. Neither could Archie. He told me, everything that had happened. Told me the next night when he finally awoke from the drugged sleep (sleep which had helped to heal him as no surgeon's art could have) and found that his fate had been taken out of his hands. He cried - and I have never seen him cry before. 

I told him what he did not know. How Bush had burst into the courtroom, and all the horrible detail thereafter. I could do nothing, offer nothing, Pellew was all too glad to convict Bush and save me. Bush talked to me before the hanging, and I told Archie the words he had told me - that we must not regret, that we must honour him by enjoying what he had given us - our life together. I told Archie that I would never forget what he would have done for me, and he laughed darkly.

'Of course I would do that, Horatio. I could not act any other way where you were involved. Bush, though, he chose his sacrifice, not from passion, not from the pull of one soul to another, but because he is a good man.'

'You are a good man, Archie. There were too many good men on that accursed ship.'

What more could be said? I told him I loved him, I told him more than once and I hoped that he had never doubted it - it is only when you risk losing the time to say things that you realise how important it is that they be said. 

He simply stroked my hair, gently, as eloquent as all my words.

And we clung together, all through that long, tropical night. He and I clasped in one unmoving embrace, all the more aware of what we had for the ease at which we might have lost it. Sorrow, yes, that was present, but we knew we must not deny our joy at being together. That would invalidate all Bush had done to help us.

I thought of how this scene might have played out. About how empty and cold the small bed Archie now lay in might have been. A shiver passed through me and, as though reading my thoughts he tightened his grip around me and buried his face in the loose hair at my neck, as if he would burrow in and never leave.

'I am here, Horatio. It is all over and I am still here. We are together, let the world spin what madness it chooses, we are together, as we are meant to be'

~~~Finis~~~


End file.
